


The Zebra Sheets

by agirlsname



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brief mentions of torture, Dialogue Heavy, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Mary, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Reichenbach, Relationship Negotiation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, brief mentions of past drug use, canon compliant up to s2, in a Sussex cottage, no season 3 or 4, touch-starved Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 13,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28776888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlsname/pseuds/agirlsname
Summary: Sherlock is back from the dead and he's exhausted. So is John. They go on a holiday to a faraway cottage and unexpected truths are revealed.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 230
Kudos: 210
Collections: Be my Valentine - Johnlock Collection, Sherlock and John Stories that Ease the Soul, Sherlock26





	1. 00:01

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IamDavidTennant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamDavidTennant/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Простыни с зебрами (The Zebra Sheets)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433210) by [Lesli_rus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesli_rus/pseuds/Lesli_rus)



> Happy Valentine's Day to all of my dear readers and fandom friends. And some extra special hugs and kisses to IamDavidTennant!
> 
> Thank you Akhenaten's Mummy for the beta, and for being so audaciously hilarious. I spent the editing process laughing long and loud in my empty living room!

It had seemed an elementary case, and two years ago it would have been. Not even  getting kidnapped used to cause Sherlock  any great worries.

That was before Serbia.

Now it doesn’t matter that these are  simple robbers and not part of an international criminal network under James Moriarty’s command. It doesn’t matter that they don’t have a fully equipped torture chamber with hooks on the walls to chain him up.

The only thing that does matter is that John knows he is missing, because this time he doesn’t already believe Sherlock to be dead. John is coming. This is what helps Sherlock stay sane as they tie his hands behind his back and kick him.


	2. 08:43

Sherlock is silent all the way home. He considers speaking once, but moving his lips seems too much of an effort, and his throat feels devoid of a voice.

It doesn’t matter.

John sits close to him and speaks calmly. Not in the way people speak when they are afraid of the trauma someone is suffering; careful, thin voices and words regretted before they are spoken. No, John speaks to him as though Sherlock were responding to his words, as though he were actually present.

It helps. It makes him less frightened of the state he is in. John is not afraid, and that probably means everything will be okay.

Sherlock barely registers entering 221B and climbing the stairs. He is aware of sitting on a kitchen chair and unbuttoning his shirt with numb fingers, and John being all Doctor Watson with him. Steady hands care for his wounds. Sherlock closes his eyes and makes himself notice, for the first time in days, that he is breathing.

It takes a while before he reflects on the fact that John’s attention has moved to the scars on his back. They are several months old now and have started to fade, such as they are. John puts a warm cream on them.

It is redundant and they both know it. Sherlock sighs and accepts it as John’s wordless understanding.


	3. 07:56

“We should go away for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s nice.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply at first. Nothing is particularly _nice_ at the moment. His wounds are healing, but dread floods him every time there is a sudden sound. He feels trapped in his own skin.

John sits in his chair. His bare feet are resting next to a sunbeam stretching across the dusty carpet.

“We’re going to have a great summer, Sherlock.”

Sherlock snorts. “How so?”

“Because we deserve it.”

Sherlock squirms on the sofa; the leather makes his back sweaty. “Deserving it will not make it happen.”

“I’ll make sure it does”, John says and firmly adds: “We’re going to have a great summer.”

Sherlock turns his head away. “Where do you want to go?”

“Don’t really care. I just want to get out of London. With you.”

Sherlock presses his hands together and closes his eyes. Perhaps his own skin isn’t the only thing trapping him. Perhaps, for once, it’s his beloved London.

“My grandparents had a cottage in Sussex.” Sherlock opens his eyes and sees John look at him, startled. Ah; the light has changed. Sherlock has been silent for some time then. “My parents haven’t got around to selling it yet. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if we spent a week there.”


	4. 10:09

They rent a car to avoid the crowds on the train. John drives.

Sherlock doesn’t realise that he has been trembling until the trembling stops. It is easier to move now, to speak, to breathe.

“When were you last in the cottage?” John asks.

“It’s been decades. Since I was old enough to insist on staying in the city, I suppose. I rarely have the urge to spend time in the countryside.”

“No?”

“Obviously not. It’s boring.”

John chuckles. “I need to keep you busy, don’t I? What kind of thing did you do there when you were a kid?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Dig for worms in the garden and experiment on them. Practise the names of plants and herbs.” He pauses, then adds: “Dress up in grandmother’s old clothes.”

“You didn’t!”

Sherlock continues in a louder voice, attempting to ignore John’s laugh: “Toast sausages in the fireplace.”

John’s laugh subsides. “We should do that. You and me.”

“I’m not sure grandmother’s clothes are still there.”

“No, you berk. The sausages.”

Sherlock frowns. “Why? It’s much easier to fry them.”

“Not so tasty, though. And not as cosy.” John’s mouth twists into a half-smile. “Harry and I used to do that too, you know. Our aunt had a fireplace in her living room. We used to toast sausages and put them in buns with all kinds of things. Cucumber, olives, cottage cheese… It was pretty fancy.”

“Sounds _luxurious_.”

“Shut it, you posh git. I come from a family where every meal came out of the microwave.”

“Fine. Let’s toast sausages.”

“And eat them with cottage cheese.”

“If you insist.”

Sherlock leans back in his car seat and smiles. He has been back for months, but they haven’t talked like this since before he fell.

John talks and laughs and occasionally puts his hand on Sherlock’s knee.


	5. 17:36

The cottage smells like pipe smoke and pirates wearing oversized dresses with large flower patterns. And soon it smells like burning wood and sausages.

Sherlock feels like a younger version of himself. He eats half-burned sausages while his stocking-feet warm up next to John’s by the fire. It’s all so very far from their life in London; it would never have occurred to him to cook over the fire in their living room at home. Although he supposes they could theoretically do so.

Sherlock finds himself telling John more stories from his childhood and is surprised by the intensity with which John listens. During his time away, he had forgotten what it’s like to have someone care about everything he says, simply because it’s important to _him_.

John answers with the same kind of stories. Sherlock has never come close to hearing anything like this from him before. Before, it was as if John had sprung fully formed into his current, competent adult shape. Sherlock saves every pearl from John’s past in his mind with infinite care.

When they go to bed on the first night, it feels as though they know each other significantly better than they did yesterday.


	6. 12:18

Sherlock goes out for a long walk by the shoreline. John stays in the cottage to work on the big blog post about their last case. When Sherlock comes back in, John has fallen asleep in his bed with the laptop on his belly. He startles awake when Sherlock pops his head into his room.

“Finished the blog post, then?”

“Mmm, almost”, John mumbles. “I got stuck at the end, and then I felt sleepy… Hey, could you help me out?”

“With what?”

“The ending. I don’t know how to write about… you know.”

“The torture?”

“Yeah.”

Their eyes meet.

“Fine.”

“Thanks.” John lifts the laptop and holds it out to him.

“Now?” Sherlock looks around. The only furniture in John’s bedroom is the bed and a chest of drawers; no chair. The bed is quite large, though.

When John just looks at him expectantly, he sits down on the side of the bed, removes his shoes, then lies down on top of the covers. The sheets are a pale pink with stylised zebras on them.

John looks different from here. Lying next to Sherlock on top of the sheets, he looks softer and more rumpled than Sherlock has previously had the privilege of seeing him. His nose looks different from this angle, too.

Sherlock ends up telling John more about Serbia than he ever thought he would speak out loud. John tells him about his two years of grief in return. In the end it feels more like something they suffered together than something that tore them apart.


	7. 17:16

“You’re a genius, you know.”

“I know. What have I done now?”

“Taken me to this cottage. I love it.”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose… I mean, yes, this is enjoyable.”

John stands by the stove and stirs a frying pan while Sherlock watches from the kitchen table.

“I love seeing a place from your childhood. Feels like I understand you better now, somehow.”

“I wasn’t here very often. This isn’t exactly the sort of place I grew up in.”

“What’s your parents’ place like, then?”

“Well, the house is about five times as large as this one, for starters. And there are several smaller houses surrounding it.” Sherlock catches John raising his eyebrows. “What?”

“Just, that’s very different from the flat Harry and I grew up in. I wouldn’t even know what to use all that space for, with just two kids.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem. Every garden shed had its own specific use.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“One for gardening tools, obviously. One for toxic experiments. One for inherited furniture Mummy was too polite to refuse but that didn’t fit in anywhere. One for secret snogging with the boy next door.”

John laughs and pours cream into the frying pan. It hisses loudly when it hits the hot iron, making conversation momentarily difficult.

Sherlock frowns at John’s back. John thinks he is joking. Or, Lord have mercy, that he is referring to Mycroft.

It shouldn’t sting, but it does. Sherlock knows perfectly well that it was his own choice to put a lid on his sexuality, and after so many years of abstinence he is confident that it doesn’t shine through. Still, that John can’t even consider the possibility that he might have once wanted those things… well, it bothers him.


	8. 10:45

He thinks about it during his walk the next day. When he comes back inside, John is lying on top of his zebra sheets again. Sherlock joins him.

“Would it really be so surprising if I told you that I used to have sex with a boy?”

John’s eyes widen. “Wha-?”

“Yesterday, when I talked about snogging the boy next door. You laughed.”

“Oh.” John’s cheeks colour a bit. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I wouldn’t have a problem with it, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s all fine. It’s just that… well, I’d formed the impression you aren’t the kind of person who, you know. Who wants things like that.”

“So it’s not the gay thing?”

“Definitely not the gay thing.”

“And it’s not that you think I wouldn’t be capable of it?”

John looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Capable? I mean, that’s not really my business, is it? I’m sure you’d… um…” He scratches his neck. “Look, I don’t care what you do or don’t do. I just thought you weren’t interested in sex, that’s all.”

“Okay.” Sherlock nods towards the ceiling. “Well, I _did_ have an affair with the boy next door, which mainly took place in that particular shed.”

John turns his head and grins at him. “Nice.”

“It was, actually.” Sherlock frowns. “Nicer than most of the others. It was the least messy one.”

“You’ve had others after, then? All men?”

“All men. Most of them during university.”

“And after that?”

Sherlock thinks for a while. He has never had a reason to tell this story. He is surprised that on this particular day, he doesn’t mind.

“I wasn’t very careful. Not in my selection of partners, and not in my practices. This in combination with cocaine was not very constructive.”

John watches him quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“None of those men gave me what I was looking for. They mostly wanted to get off, whereas _I_ wanted…” He trails off. “Well, I don’t know what I wanted. But I didn’t get it, and the resulting dissatisfaction disrupted my ability for logical thinking. So I decided to stop looking.”

“And that was when you stopped using cocaine”, John fills in quietly.

“It was easier when I wasn’t constantly rejected and abused.”

John shakes his head at the ceiling. Sherlock can see that his jaw is clenched hard. “None of those jerks realised what they had. What they had the chance of having.”

Sherlock shrugs. “It doesn’t matter now. I have detached myself from my sexuality, and I rarely suffer because of it. The Work is rewarding enough.”

“You’ve shut it off completely?”

“Mmmm.” Sherlock purses his lips, not looking at John. “Not entirely, I suppose. It’s just not something I share with others now.”

“Don’t you find that difficult? Don’t you ever long for something else? For… someone?”

Sherlock glances at John. “Yes. But people who seem worth the bother very rarely cross my path.”

The room is silent for a moment, long enough for Sherlock to get nervous. But the follow-up question doesn’t come.

“I’m starting to think that way is better”, John says instead. “Only to bother if someone is worth it, I mean. And otherwise just leave the whole thing.”

Sherlock cannot help scoffing. “And all your girlfriends are ‘worth it’?”

“No, that’s what I’m saying.” John pauses. “I haven’t seen anyone since you fell, you know. I’ve been rethinking some stuff for the last two years.”

“Such as?”

“Such as what kind of person I’m willing to try with. Both when it comes to what I’m looking for, and… where I’m looking.”

Sherlock frowns. John seems to be looking virtually everywhere for something in a skirt who might be willing to lift it for him. Although now that he mentions it, it has been quite a while since Sherlock saw him do that.

“So where are you looking now?”

John clears his throat and replies steadily, eyes on the ceiling: “Not only among women, for starters.”

Sherlock is so caught off guard that he forgets to hide his surprise. He turns his head to look at John, look for the clues he’s completely missed.

“So you never deduced that, huh?” The corner of John’s mouth ticks up.

“Things certainly _have_ changed.”

“That’s not a change, I’ve always been bi.”

“You’d never have said it out loud before. And I didn’t even try to manipulate you into it.”

John snorts. “But you knew I was.”

“I suspected. I never saw any signs of you knowing it yourself, though. Or being interested in finding out.”

John shrugs. “Yeah. Things did change.”


	9. 14:48

John falls asleep next to him on top of the zebra sheets. Sherlock was talking about the chemical compounds of different sweeteners, and John rolled over on his side, facing Sherlock. He closed his eyes as Sherlock talked. When he noticed John’s even breathing he thought that he might as well finish his line of thought.

So he keeps talking. John is curled in on himself in that adorable way he has when he sleeps sometimes. He drifts closer to Sherlock, pulled in by the warmth maybe, or the familiarity of his voice.

This is where they spend time together now, apparently; in John’s bed. He is surprised that John doesn’t mind. He wonders if _he_ should mind. But when he tries to think of a reason for protesting it, his objections are elusive and he cannot quite grasp them.

No matter. John apparently feels safe enough in his company that he can fall asleep like this, and Sherlock enjoys listening to his calm breathing.

When John’s head is resting only a few inches from his shoulder, he stops speaking and turns his head. John is deeply asleep and it’s three in the afternoon. He studies John’s face and sees evidence of his exhaustion.

John is not the one who was on the run alone for one and a half years, who was forced to kill, or who was locked up and tortured. But he suffered a different kind of trauma. He looks as though he’s been loaded with a weight half his body mass, forced to carry it around every day. Sherlock wasn’t the only one who needed to come here to rest.

John has been so strong and brave, taking care of Sherlock in the aftermath of everything he’s been through. _Thank you_ , Sherlock mouths to John’s sleeping face. Then he inches closer until he can feel John’s steady breath on his shoulder.


	10. 19:15

“What are you looking at?”

“I’m looking for clues.”

“To what?”

“Whether you have experimented.”

“With…?”

“Men.”

John laughs. “Why?”

“Missing data.”

“Well.” The sheets rustle when John settles on his back with his hands folded on his belly. “It wasn’t a drunken epiphany in the arms of another man that did it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what?”

John shrugs. “When you died, it made me question a lot of things.”

“Why?”

“Because every relationship I’ve ever had seemed a bit empty. Know what I mean? My ex-girlfriends didn’t really know me. And I didn’t really care about them. But you, you truly understood me. Losing that… it was harder then, settling for less.”

“And you think you need a man to be understood?”

“No, it’s not about that. It’s about everything. I’ve been wrong about so many things. Who I could be with, what a relationship should be…” John pauses, then nods to himself. “I just think I should be with someone more like you.”

Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “I agree”, he says quietly.

“And for the record”, John says and points at him, “you should be with someone more like me.”

Sherlock presses his lips together. “I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like you.”

“I know. And that’s when I start thinking that maybe we should just be the two of us. Yeah? You’re the only person I’ve ever felt that yes, I could see you on the other side of the kitchen table for the rest of my life.”

He means it platonically, obviously. Sherlock is not meant to read anything into that statement. And he wouldn’t have, if their relationship had still been what it was before they came to the cottage.

But John did come out as bisexual this morning. That cannot simply be ignored, not by Sherlock, and especially not by John himself. This time, John is too close to the line of what he can get away with saying. This time, Sherlock will ask.

“In what way do you mean?”

John is silent for a while. “I don’t know”, he finally says. Sherlock turns his head on the bed to look at him. “That’s what I’m thinking about.”

“So you think that we could be more than friends.” Sherlock is impressed by the steadiness of his own voice.

“Sometimes I think we already are. It’s like we’re already life partners, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Sherlock sucks his lips in between his teeth, then adds, because this much at least is an obvious fact: “I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

John smiles. “So would I. So the question is only in what way.”

Sherlock is unprepared for the direction this conversation is taking. “Are you asking me?”

“No. No, I’m trying to figure it out myself. Look, I’m sorry I’m putting this on you before I’m done thinking – I didn’t mean to talk about this now.”

The summer breeze outside is picking up speed. The rustle of an aspen can be heard through the closed window.

“Too late; we _are_ talking about this.”

“Yeah, apparently.” John turns on his side, facing him. “Sherlock, you’re my best friend. I’ve never had a friend like you. I’ve never felt so… safe. I’ve lived with you for years, we already know that’s not a problem for us. We work well together, too. I just can’t imagine anything better than what we have.”

“Neither can I.” It helps that they are lying in bed while having this conversation; the location is already so odd that Sherlock can _just_ pretend this is not real. That makes it easier to reply: “You… you’re my best friend, too. My only friend, in fact, but if I had several, you would still be the best, I’m sure.”

“Right, and don’t you ever think how great it’d be to base a relationship on that? I don’t have feelings for you, not in that way, but… what if I could?”

“Do you think you could?”

“I think I put a lid on it very early on. We were going to live together and I didn’t want to, you know. Complicate things. And also because you’re a man, I guess. Anyway I’m not sure I should go near that lid now, because what happens if I _can_ feel something for you? And what happens if I can’t?”

Sherlock stares at the ceiling. It has cracks in it.

“I have no feelings for you, either. Not… not now.”

John breathes in time with the aspen outside. “You _have_ had, though?”

“I was interested once. Surely you know that already. You said it yourself; if I were to be with someone, it should be someone like you. I’m not idiot enough not to recognise that when you turned up. But it was evident that you weren’t interested, and it was more important to me that our living arrangement worked. So I made myself stop thinking that way. It was a long time ago. It has not been an issue since.”

John speaks very quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“There’s nothing to know. As I said, it’s not an issue. However, I cannot be one hundred percent certain that I couldn’t… feel something. Again. It would be foolish to think otherwise; if I once could, it stands to reason that is still a possibility.”

“Sure.” John purses his lips. “Do you _want_ a relationship, then?”

“I told you; it is dangerous for me to want that. Distracts me from the Work. Encourages dangerous habits.”

“But if you _could_ have what you wanted? If you weren’t used and let down, like with the others?”

Sherlock ponders it for a minute. “Difficult to say. Too little data. I do admit that the incident with Moriarty changed things. Forcing myself not to care about people obviously didn’t work; I cared anyway, and it showed. And when I was away…” He glances at John. “I missed you. I never want to be without you again.”

John’s eyes turn soft, and Sherlock briskly goes on:

“But I have never been in a relationship, as such. I might have believed I was, but I realise now that there are many more components to a relationship than I have previously thought, and I never had one where every component was present. Friendship, romantic feelings, sexual feelings… it’s too much to hypothesise about what it would be like to fit all that into my life.”

“I mean, a relationship doesn’t _have_ to be all of that.”

Sherlock nods. “And our potential relationship would not include all of those components.”

“Maybe not.” John suddenly laughs.

“What is it?”

“Well, there’s something I’ve discovered since you came back.”

Sherlock waits, but John does not continue. “Yes?”

“About you.”

“Yes.” Sherlock waits a bit more. “What?”

John looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Well, that…” He licks his lips. “No, I probably shouldn’t say it.”

Sherlock’s curiosity skyrockets. “ _What?_ ” He pushes himself up on his elbow, looking down at John.

“But you already know it, don’t you?”

“No, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

John actually _blushes_ , and that is something Sherlock has never seen before. He draws a steadying breath, then looks Sherlock directly in the eye.

“I’m attracted to you.”

The arm Sherlock supports himself on gives and he falls back onto the bed. That can’t be right. He feels his face go entirely blank while his brain whirs at a crazy speed. John thinks he is _ugly_ ; he was so sure of it. Never for a second did he question the truth of it. Sherlock is gaunt and skinny, with odd angles on his face and colourless eyes.

When John came out just now, Sherlock imagined his taste in men; broad, muscular, blond. (Sounds more like _Sherlock’s_ taste, now that he thinks about it.)

“You can’t say you didn’t know”, he distantly hears John say.

“No, you think I’m ugly”, Sherlock weakly responds.

“What? Why in the world would you think that? You are utterly beautiful. And very sexy. If that’s okay.”

“ _Sexy?_ ”

“You really have no idea?” John laughs sadly. “I’ve been staring at you for months now. Tried to be discreet about it, but, well, it’s _you_. I never thought I’d actually get away with it.”

“How did this happen?” Sherlock demands. “You clearly weren’t interested when we met. Whenever I tried to get your attention you turned around and found yourself a woman.”

“I told you, I didn’t want to go there. It doesn’t mean I thought you were ugly. I _never_ thought you were ugly. And when you came back, I sort of… found myself looking at you. It was your throat, at first. Do you have any idea how beautiful your throat is? And your collarbones, god. And then I just… you know.”

“What?”

“Well, I once found myself thinking about you. Fantasising about you. When I was… you know.”

Sherlock hasn’t blinked in what seems like minutes. His eyes feel very big.

“Don’t feel that you have to say anything”, John rushes to say. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m glad I told you, though, because I don’t want you ever to believe I think you’re ugly. It makes me sad that you thought that.”

“But you didn’t want me”, Sherlock says dully.

“Wanting you or not wanting you is about so much more than the way you look. You’re beautiful. That doesn’t mean I’m about to risk our friendship for something uncertain. If we have sex, it would change things. No matter what happens after, we can never take that back.”

 _If we have sex._ Are they really having this conversation?

Sherlock suspects that he is supposed to say something. The room has gone silent. Even the wind has stilled.

“I don’t know what to say”, he tells John honestly.

“Neither do I. We’ll need to talk about this more later, I reckon. Maybe we should just call it a night and sleep on it for the time being?”

“Okay.”


	11. 03:07

Sherlock does not sleep, obviously.

He lies in his bed, twisting and turning, until he sits up and parts the curtains. The street outside his bedroom window is lit by a lone streetlight a bit further down the road. The summer night isn’t entirely dark; the sky is a dull grey. It makes the sleeping village look like another place entirely.

His entire being, body and mind, is filled with one single truth. John is attracted to him. It is huge and radical.

Sherlock stopped hoping for something like that with John years ago. He imagined that if John ever changed his mind, it would be the result of Sherlock pursuing him in just the right way. Consciously proving to John again and again that he’d be a good partner; dressing for John; parading in front of John; flirting with John. He chose not to do that, for the sake of his own health. He chose to let it go, and he fully expected that to be the end of it.

But John saw him anyway.

He never dreamed that someone like John would suddenly see him without even the slightest nudge. Just see him, right there in their kitchen, when he’s occupied with something else entirely.

A car slowly passes by the house. The roar of the engine sounds loud in the empty street. A young woman, single, who has driven all day after visiting her parents in Scotland.

Sherlock had forgotten what it’s like to feel desired. He had forgotten how it changes everything. It changes the way he holds his spine and his shoulders, the way he steeples the palms of his hands together, the way he touches the tips of his fingers to his full lips.

As the hours pass and carry him to dawn, this new truth is cemented in his body. Sherlock feels beautiful.


	12. 06:19

Sherlock stands in front of the mirror for longer than he will ever admit. It is difficult to decide on clothes today. Everything he owns is elegant, of course. But the purple shirt has a lustre to it that makes it alluring in a way that the blue shirt is not. And one pair of trousers is a little tighter than the others.

John is just his friend, regardless of their conversation yesterday. You do not choose clothes for the benefit of your friend.

In the end, Sherlock cannot resist the purple shirt and the tight trousers. John is attracted to him; friends or not, Sherlock wants to see it on his face, just once.

Sherlock is dizzy with how fast everything has changed. John smiles and wishes him good morning the way he always does, but his eyes look different; darker. Sherlock can see his effort to keep his eyes on Sherlock’s face, but then his gaze slides down and takes Sherlock’s body in.

Sherlock’s blood stirs in a way it hasn’t done in ten years. It makes him daring.

He wonders what it is, exactly, that John finds attractive. Can he provoke a reaction? He knows he shouldn’t go there, but today he feels beautiful and desired – he wants just a _little_ more of that feeling. In the end it doesn’t matter that it’s a bad idea; he feels his eyes glitter and his smile turn suggestive even without his conscious permission.

“Sleep well?”

John gives a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Not really.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asks, voice innocent but eyebrows teasingly raised.

“No, I think I… dreamt too much.”

“Hmm. Something interesting?”

He’s not entirely certain what it is he’s doing, but he can feel it in his almost defiant posture; everything about him demands to be looked at. And oh, John _looks_. His eyes blatantly wander down Sherlock’s open collar. He licks his lips, then forcibly closes his eyes and smiles in embarrassment.

Sherlock keeps flirting. He cannot help it; the overwhelming evidence of John’s attraction to him crushes every wall he has built. For ten years he has kept his sexuality firmly locked in a little box, and it has never been difficult to keep it there. A single sentence from John – _I’m attracted to you_ – has made it explode, and now his sexuality is everywhere. It spills over in every movement he makes and every word he says.

Sherlock had no idea how wonderful it would be to see John so sexually frustrated. John fights not to let his hands drift towards Sherlock to settle on his forearm, shoulder or back – and Sherlock feels as though he has John’s entire sexuality in his own hands. It’s irresistible. And so, the more John struggles, the more Sherlock teases.


	13. 14:41

What was it that John said, really? He obviously didn’t mean that he actually sees a romantic relationship between them as a possibility. A practical relationship, at the most, and even one with a sexual outlet – but not a _real_ one.

Sherlock needs to be very careful not to let himself start daydreaming about it.

He walks alone along the shore. When he reaches the lighthouse, where he always turns around to head back, he decides that he has to ask John. Just for clarification. Just to hear him say it: _No, I will never fall for you._

When the cottage comes into sight, every step Sherlock takes feels fateful. He has the most curious feeling that these are the last few moments of this life as he knows it.

He pauses by the hallway mirror, looks himself in the eye and nods.


	14. 15:18

“Hello.”

“Oh. Hey.”

“May I join you?”

“Sure.”

John moves to the edge of his bed, leaving room for Sherlock on the pale pink sheets. Sherlock lies down and is immediately aware of a tension that was not there yesterday. Lying in a bed together is no longer uncomplicated.

“After reviewing our conversation last night, there are some points that I would like to clarify.”

“Yeah”, is all John says.

“You said that I’m your best friend.”

John rubs his eye; he has been napping again. “You are. You really are.”

“And you said that you’re-” He has to make a minuscule pause in order to get the words out. “Attracted to me.”

“Yes.”

“So what’s missing, then, from the basis needed to form a romantic relationship, are the romantic feelings. Correct?”

“Well… isn’t that the same thing?”

“The same thing as what?”

“A deep friendship and sexual attraction.”

Sherlock immediately loses his footing again. “But you said you don’t have feelings for me.”

“I said I don’t let myself think about it.”

“But-”

Sherlock doesn’t know how to continue. This is not what John is supposed to say. He is supposed to put an end to every errant hope that may be awoken in Sherlock’s chest.

John puts his hands behind his neck and looks thoughtfully out the window. The sky is overcast, giving the summer day a bright grey shade.

“The thing is, Sherlock, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve had it all wrong before. Maybe every time I’ve thought I was in love, I wasn’t really. And now, when I think I’m not… maybe this is actually it? That makes it kind of hard to tell. I have no experience with… whatever this is.”

John glances at him, and Sherlock catches his eye. “I don’t want us to be each other’s consolation prize”, Sherlock says. “Something to settle for because neither of us could find someone else who treated us well. If we were to become partners, it would have to be based on love.” He closes his eyes before he finishes: “And I can’t afford to consider that if there is no possibility of you developing romantic feelings for me.”

“I know.” John drags his hand across his face. “Tell you the truth, I’m terrified. I feel as if no matter what I do, it might be the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Entering a relationship with me?”

“Jeopardising our friendship. What if you fall in love with me, and I don’t fall in love with you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sherlock bites his lip. He wants to reassure John that he can survive it, but it would be a lie. He knows his own patterns. If he lets John in, he will do anything for him. And if John leaves, Sherlock will break.

“Then why risk it?” Sherlock says. “It’s good the way things are now. We could just-”

“Yeah, but what if _that’s_ my life’s biggest mistake? What if I’m meant to live my life with you, if this is actually the best foundation a relationship could ever have… and I miss it just because I’m so afraid of trying?”

“Oh. Yes. I see what you mean.”

John throws up his hands. “I don’t know how we’re meant to make that decision.”

“We don’t have enough data to make a decision.”

“I know, but there’s no way to gather data without risking everything already. Once we cross that line…”

“… it will change everything, yes.”

“And what if the sex is bad?” John shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t want to make it sound like a big deal, but… well, it is. To me, sex is important. And it’s not about whether you’re gorgeous – you are – but sometimes two people just don’t click when it comes down to it. Our friendship will never be the same.”

Sherlock sighs. “You do make a good argument.”

“Plus I’ve never… you know. With a man.” John frowns. “It’s very hard to know what that will be like. For me.”

They fall silent. Sherlock slowly raises his hands, lets the palms meet before his chest, then brings them lightly to his chin.

“So a romantic relationship with me is not entirely off the table for you”, he summarises.

“Far from it. But if we do this, then that’s it. That’s all in for me. Because it’s you, I can’t do casual. If we decide to try, we commit.”

“Obviously.”

“But do you even want that?”

Sherlock closes his eyes and presses his hands firmer together. “I find myself intrigued by our conversations.” He grimaces, because that is a dishonest understatement. “Those desires that I had with previous partners… even considering this, it is once more getting difficult to stifle them. It is not entirely convenient. My brain is getting… foggy.”

“I’ll back off if you need me to”, John says quietly.

“It is unclear what I need. I need my heart to be quiet, not to speak louder than my head. But what would be more effective; suffocating it, or fulfilling its needs? I gave up on the latter because I could not find satisfaction anywhere, but… you are not like anyone else. I cannot rule out the possibility that it would be different with you.”

John’s throat clicks when he swallows. He is moved by this. Probably by Sherlock’s use of the word _heart_ ; predictable.

“It’s a big decision for both of us.” John sighs, and when he next speaks, Sherlock hears a smile in his voice. “Can you solve that case for us?”


	15. 03:45

It is a difficult case. Sherlock stays awake all night without solving it. He stares out at the gloomy street, hugging his knees to his chest. He is acutely aware of John sleeping on the other side of the thin wall.

He thinks about when he wanted John. How there was an invisible light around the little soldier, indicating that this was someone special. Yes, Sherlock had thought, if he were to be with anyone, it needed to be someone like this. Someone who appreciates what he does, laughs at his jokes, and takes care of him when he’s too stupid to do it himself. John wouldn’t make him crawl on the ground before him, and then crush him under the sole of his shoe just for the hell of it.

Sherlock’s heart pumped hopefully and threatened to overwhelm him with everything he longed for. It was a terrible time. He didn’t eat anything for a week and slept even less than he ate. It would have led to his complete destruction had he let it continue.

But what would it be like if John actually returned the sentiment? If he actually tended to every ache in Sherlock’s bruised heart and remained here, even when Sherlock was convinced that he would leave?

Sherlock shakes himself, terrified of where these thoughts are taking him.

How can he know whether a real romance would destroy him or help him, when he has no idea what it is like to have one? It is as John says; trying and failing could be his downfall, but not trying might be the greatest act of cowardice he could ever commit.


	16. 07:29

The tension between them is palpable. John’s smile is apprehensive, as if he half expects Sherlock to push him up against a wall and… well, either shout at him or snog the living lights out of him.

“Sleep well?” John asks, going for casual.

“No.”

“Ah. Me neither.”

They are in the kitchen, dancing around each other as they prepare breakfast. Sherlock is horrified to discover that John already looks different. He looks handsome again, the way he did when they first met. His broad shoulders are begging forSherlock to grip them. His delicate hands look painfully pleasurable when they handle a jar of honey.

“I didn’t solve our case.”

John laughs a little. “Me neither.”

They pause, looking at each other. John’s eyes are deeply blue, and his pupils are enormous. Sherlock's traitorous heart beats faster, his breath comes shorter, and he doesn’t want to know about the state of his own pupils.

“Huh”, John says. Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “Well, you know how I said that if we do something sexual, that’s a line we can’t un-cross? I think we might have crossed it just talking about all of this.”

Sherlock presses his lips together. John is correct, of course. He should have anticipated that.

“So we have already started doing that thing we wanted to be very sure about before we did?” Sherlock says.

“Apparently.” John scoops up honey with a spoon and puts it in a teacup. The fabric of his t-shirt moves over his chest, revealing the contours of his pectorals. “Question is, do we continue?”

Sherlock doesn’t trust his voice, so he merely shrugs.

John’s eyes flick down to his collarbones and back. “God, this is killing me.”

Sherlock cannot help smirking. “What is? My throat, or our situation?”

“Both. Oh, god, both.”

Sherlock feels himself sway towards John and has to be quite stern with his body to stand rooted in place.

“Could you pass me the honey, John?”

“Jesus, don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“The way you do… Just, come here.”

They fit together like a pair of magnets. When Sherlock winds his arms around John’s back, he realises that this is a mistake. They have embraced before, but it was nothing like this. He presses the palms of his hands against John’s warm back, hides his face in John’s neck and hopes that he will never have to end this embrace.

Mostly because he doesn’t trust himself not to do something very, very stupid on his way out.


	17. 11:38

Hours pass in agony. The sexual tension in the cottage seems to be nearly enough to knock them out. Sherlock, who has had absolute control over his sexuality for ten years, finds himself spontaneously aroused several times. His mind refuses to focus on other things than being as close to John as possible.

They embrace several times even though it is almost certainly inadvisable. Sherlock can see the anguish in John’s eyes and wants to comfort him – at least, that’s what he tells himself when he reaches for John. But once John’s in his arms, it is no comforting hug between friends. John’s hands slowly stroke Sherlock’s back; Sherlock almost moans.

Their cheeks brush when they part. For a moment, John’s face is very close to Sherlock’s. Their eyes meet. John’s eyes flicker to Sherlock’s lips and up again; Sherlock panics and all but throws John out of his arms.

He turns away. Behind him he hears John release a breath, ending in what is almost a pained laugh.

“We have to consider what would happen to the Work.” Sherlock turns back to John when he has ensured there is a safe distance of several feet between them.

“I know how important the Work is to you.” John grabs the butter and carries it to the table. “I would never want to get in the way of that.”

“You might become less tolerant of me putting the Work first. You might want things from me when I am busy.”

“You’re forgetting that I love the Work too. Best thing I know in the world is working together with you. That’s our idea of fun, yeah? For me, that’s quality time with you.”

“Not when I go off on my own without communicating with you. You might get angry.”

“I already do.”

“Mmm.”

They eat toast for lunch. Now and then their eyes lock across the table. Sherlock can physically see the moment John starts thinking about something indecent. He wants to ask what it is, but he fears he will never recover.

“It might get weird living together”, John says. “I mean, moving in together is something you save for later. When the relationship is more established.”

“I will _not_ allow you to move out.”

John snorts. “Of course I won’t move out. That’s what I’m saying. We might run into problems if we live together as a new couple.”

“What problems do you predict?”

John takes a bite of toast and frowns. “I don’t know. It’s just the kind of thing people don’t rush into.”

Sherlock scoffs. “ _People_ ”, he mutters.

John laughs. “Good point.”


	18. 14:00

The waves are massive today. Grey water throws itself over the rocks, the shore yielding to its will. The roar of it is grounding.

There is no way to gather the data needed to make an informed decision. They can discuss every angle of their relationship and hypothesise the outcome of a romantic endeavour, but they will never be able to prove their theories.

Experimenting is the only way.


	19. 14:52

“John, I have reached a conclusion.”

“Yeah? Thank god.”

They are lying on top of the zebra sheets. It is unclear how it came about that they spend every day lying in this bed together, and even more unclear how Sherlock ended up in John’s arms.

It feels marvellous to have John’s body against his. The space just above John’s collarbone is dark and safe; Sherlock hides his face there.

“It’s really quite simple. In actuality, we have already decided, haven’t we? We would not have taken our discussions this far if we didn’t both feel that _not_ trying and seeing where it takes us would be unsatisfactory.”

“Yeah, but-”

“So we have to try. It’s the only way. When unsure about the behaviour of any compound, experiments have to be run.”

“ _Compound?_ But this is our _frien-_ ”

“I know. But we simply cannot know beforehand whether the experiment will be a failure. And it’s too late to back down now. Isn’t it?”

John is silent for a moment. “Yeah. No, I can’t imagine stepping back at this point without knowing…”

“Exactly. So we have to try it.”

Sherlock is so satisfied having reached this conclusion that he forgets to consider what will happen next. He does not envision what “trying” means.

This is why he is completely unprepared and in fact just about to begin another sentence when John suddenly pulls back, giving Sherlock a split second to see his face, and then leans in again. His lips land on Sherlock’s without a trace of hesitation. Sherlock’s mind screeches to a halt.

It’s nothing like any of the first kisses Sherlock has had. John’s mouth is soft and immediately sure; their lips fit together perfectly as if they always knew how. John’s lips are slightly parted, and the tip of his tongue grazes Sherlock bottom lip. Sherlock is shocked at his boldness.

They end the kiss and pull apart. They stare at each other.

“What… the _hell?!_ ” John exclaims.

Sherlock doesn’t know what to say; he starts laughing. John joins in, bright and beautiful. He holds one hand behind Sherlock’s neck as Sherlock leans in against his collarbone again.

“That was so _easy!_ ” John laughs. “I’m almost disappointed!”

“It was… _surprisingly…_ ”, Sherlock tries.

“Yeah. God, yeah. Oh, god, you’re an amazing kisser.”

“ _Me?_ ” Sherlock pulls back to look at John, incredulous. “I haven’t kissed anyone in ten years.”

John smiles. “You do know that first kisses don’t go like this?”

Sherlock’s answering smile is shy. “That is also my experience, yes.”

John looks him in the eye for a moment, then he starts laughing again. “God, why did we worry?!”

Sherlock joins in his laugh. He laughs until John kisses him again. It truly is remarkably good; as if they have done thisevery day they have shared.

“Well then”, John says when they pull back. Sherlock raises an eyebrow, and John clarifies: “In _that_ case, let’s do this.”

Sherlock studies his face. “You… want me?”

“Are you serious?” John strokes his hair once, making goosebumps erupt all the way down to Sherlock’s legs. “I was worried because I didn’t know how it would feel to be with you like that.”

“You still don’t, really”, Sherlock says, but knows it’s a lie.

“If this is our _first_ kiss, Sherlock… Oh, god, are you actually made for me?”

Sherlock stares at him. John is looking at him with so much fondness – and he is _touching_ him. This kind of thing does not happen to Sherlock.

“Are we doing this?” John asks.

Sherlock pauses. “What is ‘this’?”

John smiles gently. “Kissing, for now.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock had been so certain that kissing was not for him any longer. He has forgotten how to kiss well; it didn’t seem like an ability he needed to save in his hard drive. For the first time in his life that seems not to matter. And anyway,Sherlock doesn’t have enough presence of mind to analyse what he’s doing. He is too busy with the way John tenderly forms his lips to fit around Sherlock’s upper lip.

John kisses the way Sherlock always wished that his lovers would. The way he started to think he was foolish to hope for.

Perhaps there is nothing wrong with Sherlock, after all. Perhaps there never was. Perhaps the only problem was that heneeded to wait for John Watson.

“What are you doing to me?” John murmurs into Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock feels dizzy. “I’m not doing anything.” His voice sounds breathless. “You’re the one who was insane enough to kiss me.”

“You’ve been thinking about kissing me all day.”

“I have not.”

“Yeah, you have. Right before you ran away from hugging me…”

“I did not run away!” Sherlock huffs and rolls out of John’s arms, lying on his back instead.

“I’ve been thinking about it too”, John reassures him.

Sherlock turns his face away. “Have you now?” he says, going for seductive but only sounding vulnerable to his own ears.

“Of course. You’re so beautiful it’s killing me.”

Suddenly John’s face is by Sherlock’s neck, pressing his lips against the skin there. Sherlock inhales sharply. John mouths at the sensitive skin of his neck, and Sherlock’s arousal is building impossibly fast, making him gasp for breath loudly in the silent cottage. John groans quietly in response.

“God, are you about to come?”

“No, it’s just- Oh, god, I haven’t- God, more-”

John huffs; a combination of laughing and gasping. “Christ, do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

“No.” Sherlock sounds drunk. “No, you don’t see me that way.”

“Sherlock, I’ve never wanted anyone this much in my life.”

Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and wonders if John says this to every lover. If it’s part of the John Watson experience to feel unique, treasured and painfully desired. But then John finds a spot on his throat that wipes every thought from his mind, and all he can think is: _Finally._

“Jesus, how have you hidden this from me?” John moans. “From everyone? You’re bloody _made_ of sex.”

“I know”, Sherlock half-laughs, breathless. “I had forgotten, though.”

“I can see why you had to shut it off altogether, if _this_ is that it’s like for you…”

“Mm. It would have been too painful to feel what I missed.”

John licks Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock’s body arches. John runs his hand across Sherlock’s torso. “Oh, you must have been starving.”

“John”, Sherlock keens. “Can I have this?”

“You can have anything you want from me, Sherlock.”


	20. 23:49

Touching another human being is a curious thing. Sherlock is accustomed to being an isolated entity, moving amongst and even in harmony with other bodies, but always separate. To feel another’s warm chest under the palm of his hand is a novel experience.

It feels like a luxury. Yet it is the most human of things to do; to experience the simple joy of touch.

“If you want to…” John cuts himself off.

Sherlock slides his hand over John’s pectorals, back and forth. Those muscles feel as firm as they look.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You absolutely don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Just ask.”

“We could sleep together, if you want. I mean, sleep in the same bed.”

Sherlock bites his lip. He considers the enormity of having John’s body present beside him all through the night.

“We won’t do _anything_ you don’t feel up to”, John rushes to say. “It’s just that… well, I don’t want to part from you. I just want to know you’re there.”

Sherlock slowly shakes his head. “No. Too fast.”

“That’s okay.” John cups his cheek. “I’ll see you again tomorrow instead.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “I could come into your room in the morning. Wake you up.”

John grins. “How?”

It’s astonishing how natural this feels. He isn’t the slightest bit uncomfortable with flirting. He isn’t afraid to make a fool of himself, to say something wrong, or to be taken advantage of. This is _John_ , and Sherlock knows with all the certainty of a genius mind that he is safe here.

“Mmm, maybe like this.” He drags his hand downwards, tracing a light circle around John’s navel through his t-shirt, before settling on his hip.

John closes his eyes and bites his lip. Sherlock almost moans; he has never seen anything sexier.

“In that case, let’s say goodnight so morning will come sooner.”

Brushing one’s teeth with this amount of sexual tension in the room is a ridiculous affair. It is mildly surprising that the mirror doesn’t break from the glances Sherlock and John share in it.

“Well, goodnight”, Sherlock says in the hallway outside their bedrooms.

“Goodnight”, John says and pulls Sherlock into the most indecent kiss yet. Sherlock is unprepared and nearly looses his footing, but John’s strong hands grip him, holding him in place. One hand rests firmly on the back of his neck, and the other caresses his side.

Now that they know they will soon part, and therefore know that things will not get out of hand, John is suddenly much bolder. Sherlock’s arousal escalates so quickly that he loses all coordination. He whimpers helplessly into John’s open mouth. The hand stroking his side slides further down, almost grazing his backside. It is enough to make Sherlock’s lips fall away from John’s as his head tips backwards to release a strained breath to the ceiling. John takes the opportunity to kiss his throat, and this time Sherlock actually does stumble.

John steps back. Sherlock takes a moment to compose himself, then he lowers his chin and opens his eyes. John is biting his lip again.

“That’s the sexiest thing I have ever seen”, he says. His eyes are very dark.

Sherlock watches him with wonder. He has never felt so cared for and so seen. He marvels at the very existence of John Watson; and that’s when his friend opens his mouth to say:

“You amaze me, Sherlock Holmes.”


	21. 05:59

There is a special sort of warmth in a bed that John Watson is sleeping in. Sherlock didn’t realise he was chilled until he crawls in under John’s duvet in the early morning and gets to share his sleepy heat. Perhaps Sherlock has in fact been cold his entire life, because he has never felt warmth like this. It seeps into his very bones.

John wakes up with a dopey smile. “Mmmm, morning”, he mumbles and puts his arm around Sherlock.

Sherlock half-expected him to have changed his mind. John’s unhesitating welcome, even though he hoped for it, throws him off. It feels as though reality itself has shifted into something just barely recognisable.

It suddenly dawns on him that he could well be dreaming. Yes, that makes more sense than John actually wanting Sherlock in his bed; it makes more sense than anything feeling as good as John’s hands on him do.

He could wake up at any moment. If not that, then John could decide that a few kisses in a faraway cottage is quite enough.

Or it could go on forever.


	22. 08:28

Breakfast is a disaster. They keep getting in the way of each other; John’s bare forearms and the way the muscles play beneath his skin; his grin when he catches Sherlock looking; their hands tangling together, drawing each other in.

Sherlock is confused and constantly aroused. It is impossible to get anything done.

As soon as the hateful meal is over with, they return to John’s bed.

“I refuse to set my foot outside of this room again today”, Sherlock declares.

John smirks. “Fine by me.”


	23. 13:17

John’s skin is electric. Sherlock drags his fingers lightly over John’s arm and watches goosebumps erupt. John’s breathing is laboured and his eyes closed. Sherlock would snigger at how easily John is affected by a touch so innocent, if not for the fact that he understands John’s reactions perfectly. Even the smallest of touches from John gives him more pleasure than he has ever experienced before.

John pulls him into a hungry kiss and Sherlock is immediately reduced to a whimpering mess. How does John _do_ that? When he kisses Sherlock with purpose – knowing what he wants and taking it – it is like a bomb going off in Sherlock’s brain.

And now John has found a gap in his clothing. His fingers tease at the strip of skin exposed between Sherlock’s shirt and trousers. Sherlock mouth hangs open but he holds his breath not to let on just how affected he is by this.

“God, I love seeing you like this”, John whispers.

Sherlock closes his mouth and bites his lips. John has no idea of the fire he is playing with. He will find out soon enough, though.

“John?” His voice is breathy and high. “We should talk about something.”

“Yeah?” John mouths at his neck. “What?”

“Is there-” Sherlock sighs and looks down at John’s fingers on his skin. “Is there a reason for us not to enter certain stages at once?”

John withdraws his hand and his lips. “Not that I can think of.”

“You reply too quickly; you did not think that through.”

“I don’t have to. To me it’s not a big deal. We’ve already crossed the line, and it’s no different if we go all the way now. You decide the pace.”

Sherlock thinks for a moment. “For me, it _is_ different.”

“I thought so.”

“I haven’t done this in a long time.”

“I know.”

“There are certain things I will not want to do for some time… at least for the duration of our stay here. But other things are not as clear to me.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“Do I need to spell it out?”

“Of course. Communication is key here.”

“Well, I should think this is already clear to you, but-” Sherlock quashes his shyness and speaks instead with his practised, detached voice: “Penetrative intercourse will not take place during this vacation. I have no reservations to the act itself, and no objections to performing it with you, but I simply cannot see myself being… ready in only four days’ time.”

“Totally understandable.”

“I also do not think that I will wish to touch everywhere.”

“Okay. What’s off limits, then?”

“Genitals, certainly.”

John grins. “Whose?”

Sherlock frowns. “Yours and mine both.”

“Fair enough. Anything else?”

“That is where I find myself hesitating.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I wonder… I cannot predict my reactions.”

“That is sort of the beauty of it, you know.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Oh, I know _you_ like it.” He shuffles back out of John’s arms. “Our situation is still unsettled. Yes?”

“Yeah”, John quietly replies.

“You still do not know whether you will fall for me. And I…” Sherlock closes his eyes. “I fear I will fall for you quite spectacularly if this goes too far.”

He feels John’s hand in his.

“I’m sorry”, John says. “I just don’t want to make any promises I’m not absolutely sure I can keep. The last thing I want to do is break your heart.”

Sherlock watches their joined hands resting on top of the zebra sheets. “If there is one thing I have learned about my heart, it is that it cannot be trusted. In fact, no part of my body can. This is why I keep it under such firm control. If we become too intimate, I will lose control completely.”

“I understand.”

“But I also do not trust myself not to beg you for more. Which is why I need there to be clear rules.”

“So do you want to add any more rules?”

Sherlock looks at John. He sees his blue, earnest eyes, his for once unruly hair, and his hands. In the end he cannot bring himself to forbid it.

“No”, he whispers.


	24. 20:10

John Watson is delightfully vocal about what he likes. He repeatedly praises Sherlock’s ability to kiss, he admires Sherlock’s appearance and tells Sherlock so, and when Sherlock kisses his throat, he moans. It is a beautiful sound; soft, high-pitched and entirely unashamed.

They are sitting by the fire. Sherlock pulls back from John’s neck to look at him. John is otherworldly in the mutedlight; he seems to grow more handsome with every passing hour. His eyes are closed in bliss and his mouth forms an O. Sherlock watches as it slowly shapes into a smile.

Sherlock has never felt as powerful as now, knowing that he is able to put a look like that on John’s face.

“Remind me again, why are we out of bed?”

John opens his eyes. “Food.” He nods to the empty plates on the coffee table.

Sherlock scoffs.

“Boring”, they say at the same time, John mimicking Sherlock’s tone.

Sherlock scowls. John grins.

“C’mon, then.” John stands up and holds out his hand. Sherlock grabs it impatiently and walks towards the stairs, dragging John behind him.

As he treads the steps, he is acutely aware of John behind him. He wonders whether John is looking, then dismisses the thought; of _course_ he is. It would be difficult not to. The question is rather whether he likes what he sees.


	25. 20:26

As it turns out, John did like what he saw.

His hands are on Sherlock’s backside and Sherlock is going insane. He distantly hears himself whining, feels his spine arch and the back of his head dig into the mattress, messing up his hair.

John is moaning too. “God, Sherlock… You know what?”

Sherlock blinks his eyes open when John’s hands move towards the safer area of his lower back. “Wh-? What?”

John lifts his head until his face is directly above Sherlock's. He stares into Sherlock’s eyes when he says: “I fucking love your arse.”

“Oh my god”, Sherlock pants and has to squeeze his eyes shut again. “Well. Now you-”

He is cut off by John’s hand gripping his hip.

“Now I…?” John prompts.

“Now you know.” Sherlock’s spine arches again when John’s hand reaches his bum.

John huffs a short laugh. “I certainly do.” He goes back to caressing Sherlock’s waist, giving Sherlock some time to catch his breath.

“I don’t know what it is, really. I have understood that I am… unusually sensitive.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I don’t really care why. It’s completely amazing.”

“I suppose it is a blessing.”

“For you and me both.”

Sherlock meets his gaze. “You enjoy seeing me like this.”

“Finally got that, did you?”

John’s fingers reach the hem of Sherlock’s trousers again. He squeezes Sherlock’s backside and Sherlock presses himself closer to John. The bulge in John’s pants pushes against Sherlock’s thigh.

“You know”, John pants into the open collar of Sherlock’s shirt. “For not having sex, this feels an awful lot like having sex.”

“Perhaps this _is_ sex.”

“I think so.”

“Oops.”

John giggles breathlessly into Sherlock’s sweaty skin.


	26. 09:04

Sherlock can see it with his naked eye when John falls in love with him.

They are having breakfast together on the porch. Bees are buzzing audibly in the nearby tree. The sun is timid, not yet hot.

They look at each other over their fried eggs and John’s eyes are turning impossibly bluer. This morning they look more clear than they ever have before. It is as if there has been a curtain of fog in them before, shielding John from the world. Now the fog is parting, as if John wants everything he sees to go right into the centre of him, unfiltered.

He looks at Sherlock with those eyes. They don’t speak much, they simply gaze at each other. It must look quite silly to an outside observer, and if Sherlock saw a couple staring at one another like this, he would roll his eyes.

But to be the reason for that look on someone’s face is unfathomable.

There is no mistaking this. John looks at him as though he is a wonder, as if he cannot believe his luck sitting here with Sherlock eating his morning eggs.

Perhaps the most shocking thing about it is that John doesn’t try to hide it. He looks at Sherlock openly, his whole face aglow with the emotion inside. Sherlock’s eyes warm from the first hint of unshed tears.

John says nothing. But this must be what love looks like.


	27. 13:11

They don’t talk about it. It’s too delicate and new. Instead, they crawl in under the zebra sheets to spend the day kissing.

John took off his t-shirt and trousers before lying down. Sherlock stared at his body; the quiet strength in his broad shoulders and upper arms; the string of hair disappearing beneath his boxers. He’s spent the better part of an hour running his hands all over John’s skin, familiarising himself with the way he feels when nothing is in the way.

Sherlock kept all his clothes on to begin with. But it’s getting warm under the duvet, and eventually Sherlock gives in to the impulse to wriggle out of his trousers. He catches John’s stare; his wide eyes seem to say _Are you sure?_ – and doesn’t think until then about how his body will react to feeling John against his bare skin.

It’s too late to bow out. He drops his trousers on the floor and rolls back into John’s arms.

John was right to stare. Their legs tangling together is the most erotic thing Sherlock has experienced in ten years – no, more, much more – in fact, nothing has ever felt this way. He immediately grows fully hard, as does John.

The rule not to touch each other between the legs feels at once a little blurry, with Sherlock pressed against John’s thigh and John digging into Sherlock’s belly. But rules are rules. And though his body is screaming at him to break them, Sherlock feels safe knowing that John knows. He will not be overwhelmed by a hand suddenly cupping him, or stressed by the idea that he should do something for John. No; this is good.

Surely it will not get more difficult than this anyway.


	28. 15:50

John’s hand is under Sherlock’s shirt, stroking his belly with a light palm. Sherlock closes his eyes. He can sense John watching him, and it should probably feel strange that his best friend sees him like this… but it doesn’t.

John’s hand reaches further up, caressing his chest. Sherlock sighs in pleasure when John skims over a nipple. John does it again, and again. Sherlock’s shirt is getting tangled and is clearly in the way for this.

“I’m thinking about taking this off.”

He opens his eyes. John looks flushed and radiant.

“Yeah? Whatever you want.”

John is wearing only his boxer briefs. If Sherlock takes off his shirt, they will be skin to skin from head to toe. It has been a very, very long time since Sherlock experienced that sensation.

Sherlock sits up and undoes the buttons. He throws the shirt across the room, then turns around to look at John on the bed. John is lying on his back, holding up the duvet in invitation.

“Are you ready?”

Sherlock bites his lip. “I don’t think so.” Then he slowly lowers himself into John’s arms.

As soon as their skin touches, it feels as though Sherlock’s body melts. He lets go, sinking down onto John with his full weight. He distantly hears his own voice letting out a low, long moan.

He has never felt anything like it. The cocktail of hormones and signal substances flooding him is rendering him languid with pleasure. “Oh my god”, he slurs into the hot skin of John’s neck.

“Oh my god”, John answers, stroking his back lightly.

“Ohhhh, that feels good.” Sherlock’s voice sounds floating and strange.

“Jesus”, John murmurs, “how badly did you need this?”

“Badly.” The word is almost indistinguishable. All his consonants seem to have disappeared. He thinks about touching John in return, but he cannot move his arms.

“Have you been drugged?”

“Mmm, feels like it.”

John tightens his arms around him. “God, I feel so sad for you. You have been _so_ touch-starved, haven’t you?”

“Mmmmmm.”

“You _love_ being touched, don’t you?” John whispers.

“Mmmmmm.”

“You’re such a sensual, sexual creature… and you’ve been deprived of this?”

“Was my own choice.” Sherlock tries to get control over his tongue. “Although I had admittedly forgotten… _this_.”

Reality seems to sparkle. They are afloat as if gravity has stopped caring about them, but at the same time it pulls them heavily together.

John’s fingers trace light patterns on his back as if he has all the time in the world, and wants to gift all of it to Sherlock.

“No one has touched me like this before”, Sherlock hears himself say. The pleasure cocktail has dismantled his brain-to-mouth-filter.

“I know what you mean. I haven’t had anything like this before, either.”

“So I’m not unreasonable, or… faulty.”

“For wanting some real intimacy? No, you’re not faulty.”

“And what I wanted _did_ exist.”

“Yeah. That blows my mind, too, you know.”

“You will keep doing this for as long as I want you to?”

“Yes.”

“You are unbelievable. I’m probably dreaming.”

John holds him tightly. “I hope not”, he breathes into Sherlock’s hair.


	29. 18:16

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to keep doing this when we’re home?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Yeah. And more, if you want to.”

Sherlock turns around. He has been lying with John pressed against his back, but he wants to see John’s face for this.

“What more do you want to do?”

“Oh.” John smiles, caught-out. “Many, many things.”

“Come on.” Sherlock bites his lip in a way he hopes is seductive, then traces John’s sternum with the tip of his forefinger. “What do you think about the most?”

“Um.” John closes his eyes. “Being inside you, I guess. Or you inside me, but I’ve never done that before, so I don’t-”

“I want that.”

“Which one?”

“You inside me”, Sherlock half-whispers.

John’s eyes open, and they’re hard and hungry.

“Imagine”, he murmurs, “you and I, coming home after a case. A really good one. I’ve used my gun, and you’ve been absolutely brilliant. I’ve been looking at you all day, how sexy you are with your coat collar and your cheekbones… Mrs Hudson is out, and we know she won’t get back until late.”

It’s all whispered into the narrow space between them like a secret. Sherlock hangs onto every word, anticipation simmering in his gut.

“We get inside the door. We’re still high on adrenalin, and your hair is all tousled by the wind. You start taking off your coat, but I can’t wait any longer. I grab your collar and pull you into a kiss. You’re getting hot inside your coat and you take it off while you’re kissing me. I press you against the wall. You can feel me against you, how I’m getting hard.”

At this point, a tiny whimper escapes Sherlock. He lies on his back and John props himself up on his elbow, stroking Sherlock’s arm as he continues. Sherlock’s eyes close.

“I step back and take your hand. You follow me upstairs, but we have to stop several times to kiss. You’re starting to think you might not make it to our flat. But we get in and you tear off your shoes. You want to head into your bedroom, but I take you in my arms and kiss you again. I stroke your back, and then my hands dip lower.”

Sherlock is shocked by his moan. It’s only _words_ ; it shouldn’t affect him like this. Dirty talk is something he has never understood. It should feel silly and embarrassing – but not with John. John isn’t the slightest bit embarrassed when heearnestly tells Sherlock exactly what he’s thinking about.

“I touch your arse. You know we’re alone in the house, so you don’t try to hold back your moans. Then you grab my hands and put them on your hipbones-” John moans quietly before he goes on: “-and you open your fly. I slip one hand under your waistband, and…” John’s hand tightens around Sherlock’s bicep and they both groan. “I touch you.”

Sherlock’s head is thrown back and he’s breathing quickly. He has no idea when he became so aroused, but it almost hurts. John’s erection pushes firmly into his hip.

“You realise that your bed is too far away. We’re both too turned on to walk all the way there. You look over at the table, which is miraculously cleared today, because this is a fantasy.” Sherlock is too far out of his mind to laugh at the jab. “I see what you’re thinking, and I push you backwards until you’re in front of the table. Then I pull down your trousers and pants. You lie back onto the table and wrap your legs around me. I look down at you – it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I take out the bottle of lube I’ve had in my pocket all day, then open my fly. I slowly… slowly… sink into you.”

Sherlock is squirming on the bed now, and he whines so loudly that he has to laugh. “How did you-”, he gets out in the middle of what is either laughing or moaning; he isn’t sure any more. “Help!”

John starts giggling. “Help?”

“You broke me!”

“I can see that!”

Sherlock reaches blindly for John and holds him tightly, clutching behind his neck with both hands.

“I want to”, he whispers. “I want to, I want to, I want to, I want to…”


	30. 22:22

John plays irresponsibly with this new weapon of his. When they are snogging; when they are talking; when they are trying to prepare food, John will lean forward and whisper into Sherlock’s ear:

“Imagine…”

That word alone is soon enough to create a Pavlovian response, shooting directly between Sherlock’s legs. John never disappoints; he paints the picture of one sex act after the other, every single one perfect.

When they first kissed just a few days ago, Sherlock didn’t imagine he would be ready for anything like this so soon. But he is glad that he wasn’t, because it prompted him to set up the rules – and now, instead of doing everything he wants to do, John fantasises about it.

“Imagine…”


	31. 12:46

It becomes a game. Sherlock set up the boundaries because he wanted to feel safe, not because he wanted to test how close they could come to the limit without crossing it. Yet that is what it has become.

It is a game far better than anything he could have come up with consciously.

Sherlock’s finger is tracing the skin of John’s belly, just above the waistband of his pants. John’s skin shivers under the touch. His spine is arched and he bites his lip. He looks deliciously wanton when he does that.

Sherlock finds himself quite drawn to John’s hipbones, and especially the dips inside them. They create a small gap in the waistband which seems to invite a finger to accidentally slip inside. Whenever Sherlock pauses there and dips his fingertip a few millimetres in, John stops breathing.

Sherlock withdraws and John looks as though he is in pain. Sherlock aches too, but watching John _want_ is worth not getting any relief.

John is a sexual genius. _Sex is important to me_ , he said, and now Sherlock sees why. He is so sure of what he wants, so shameless in communicating it. So in tune with his body, so creative. Ordinary people tend to like sex, but John, he loves it; he _lives_ it.


	32. 13:05

“John? I think I’m… happy.”

John sits on the edge of the bed. “Me too.” He turns around to smile at Sherlock. “It’s not so scary any more. It just feels right.”

“Mm.” Sherlock props himself up on an elbow and uses his other hand to caress John’s naked chest. “My relationship with you has an additional variable that I did not consider when calculating how a romance between us would affect the Work. I have never felt _safe_ in a previous relationship, and so I could not know what that feeling of safety would bring. I think the difference is that I don’t feel any pressure from you to change. And I’m not afraid that you will leave when you discover what I am like, or what my Work is like. You already know those things; you _like_ those things. Therefore, with you, it’s stable. Which means it will not interfere with the Work at all.”

“Uh-huh.” John sounds a little preoccupied. Sherlock realises that his hand has dipped lower onto John’s hip, and he moves it back to safer territory to allow for John to reply. “Yeah, safeness. I feel that way too. And it’s amazing to-” He cuts himself off when Sherlock’s hand slides past his hip and onto his upper thigh.

“To…?” Sherlock prompts.

“To be with you. You know I was-”

John draws in a sharp breath when Sherlock’s fingers tease his inner thigh.

Sherlock stills his hand. “You were…?”

“Oh, you berk”, John swears through a smile.

“Do go on, John. I am very interested to hear what you have to say.”

John closes his eyes and gulps down air, steeling himself. “You know I was…”

As soon as he starts talking again, Sherlock moves his fingers. He slowly traces the hem of John’s boxer briefs with one light finger, nearly feeling the heat of John’s trapped privates through the thin fabric. John soldiers on:

“… I was nervous about being with a man, but it… it feels so great. You are so sexy, and your body is amazing, and I want nothing more than to just… just touch you… I want to see you come, Sherlock.”

Sherlock leans down to kiss John’s hipbone. When John hisses, Sherlock decides to push it even more, sliding the waistband down an inch to kiss the skin beneath. John releases a heavy breath and falls down onto the bed on his back.

“Christ, we couldn’t go _any_ further than this without crossing the line.”

Sherlock smirks. “Oh yes, we could.”

John laughs incredulously. “How?”

“Tomorrow is our last morning here. I have to save it until then, or we will never make it.”


	33. 07:00

Sherlock pushes John’s bedroom door open. John stirs on the bed, opening one eye to watch him slip into the room.

Sherlock pauses by the bed and removes his clothes, everything but his underpants. John grins sleepily. It occurs to Sherlock that he should feel self-conscious about stripping like this in front of someone else – especially his best friend – especially someone he has not yet had sex with (although that one is debatable). He would have, were it anyone else.

“We have to leave in an hour”, Sherlock whispers into John’s hair.

“Then let’s make it count.”

It escalates quickly from there.

This time, when they kiss, John is not holding back. The sweet torture of keeping the boundaries will soon be gone, so it doesn’t matter how close they come or how tempted they are to break the rules. Sherlock tries to keep up but instead just melts between John’s firm hands and determined mouth.

Sherlock lies on his back and parts his legs. As John slots into place between them, Sherlock draws his legs up to wrap them around John’s back. They groan together when their erections touch, only two thin layers of fabric separating them.

“Is this what you were talking about?” John pants.

“Mm”, Sherlock manages.

“You’re a genius.”

John starts thrusting against him. Sherlock nearly shouts.

“All I can think about… is how badly I want you… inside me…”

“Oh…” John changes the angle, pushing directly onto his entrance.

Sherlock’s eyes roll back into his head. He allows himself a minute of absolute bliss before he chokes out: “I’ll come if you keep doing that.”

“Is that against the rules?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock sobs when John stills. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

John stands on his knees and looks down at Sherlock on the bed. He doesn’t even hide it when he watches the bulge in Sherlock’s pants, biting his lip as if loving the sight. Then he quickly bends down, pulling the waistband aside enough that a few strands of pubic hair are exposed, and plants a sloppy kiss on Sherlock’s groin. The sight of John Watson licking at the smooth skin mere inches from his genitals is insanely erotic, but he doesn’t even have time to react before John has pulled back and is on his feet.

“Come on, let’s get dressed.”

Sherlock doesn’t manage more than a faint groan. John turns around with a devilish smile.

“Don’t be a lazy git, Sherlock.”

“I can’t move.”

John’s eyes sparkle with smugness. “You have to.”

A bundle of fabric lands on Sherlock’s face.

“Get dressed. We’re getting out of this sexual frustration hell.”


	34. 10:14

John drives. Occasionally he puts a hand on Sherlock’s knee.

Sherlock watches in silence as the trees blur past them. The sun leaves a streak of light across his thighs.

An hour passes in silence.

“John?”

“Yeah?” John squeezes his leg.

“I am in love with you.”

John turns the car sharply off the road, stopping at a lay-by.

Sherlock looks over at him, startled. John looks back at him with steady, blue eyes, and cups his face in both hands.

“I am in love with you, too.”

The immediacy of the moment is almost too much, yet Sherlock cannot break away from John’s earnest gaze.

“Do you want me, John?”

“Yes. Yeah. Yes. Please, yes.”


	35. 19:01

When they drive into London, the city feels new.

“It will take me a long time to trust that this is not a dream, you know.”

“That’s okay. I will be here for a long time.”

Sherlock snorts, and John looks over at him. “What?”

“ _We’re going to have a great summer, Sherlock._ ”

John laughs.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] for agirlsname's 'The Zebra Sheets'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29744739) by [cupidford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupidford/pseuds/cupidford)




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